


spoiler alert

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 20:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: Gideon is nine when he starts Harry Potter.His tattoo read, “Dude, I can't believe Dumbledore dies!”OR that one soulmate AU with the tattoos, you know the one





	spoiler alert

Gideon is a walking spoiler. 

He figures it out when he's nine, glasses too big for his face, hiding under the covers with a book and a flashlight. He's always felt kinda bad, as long as he can remember, to have a soulmate tattoo about someone dying. About someone  _ he doesn't _ know dying. Is it a person he'll meet in the future? Someone he will learn to care about? Someone important?

But suddenly he's nine, and reading under the covers way past his bedtime, and the loud gasp escapes his lips. He struggles, getting tangled in the blankets in his haste to reach his tattoo, but there is it. The messy handwriting, the words he's known by heart since he was four.

Gideon is nine when he starts Harry Potter.

His tattoo read, “Dude, I can't believe Dumbledore dies!”

Thankfully for him, his tattoo is high on his ribcage, so hiding it from the world isn't that big of a problem. It's not like he goes to the beach or the swimming pool that often anyway, and he has very little reasons to take his shirt off in public. Keeping it a secret is less complicated than he would have thought at first.

Not so thankfully, though, his life becomes a nightmare from now on. He meets Melody on his first day in high school, and she's so proud of her tattoo she wants everyone else to be too. Which means she wants to know everything about Gideon’s mark. Which means he has to try twice as hard to hide it away from her. He's pretty sure she thinks he's one of the very rare people who doesn't have a soulmate, and she pities him a little. Even his story about having a boring “Hey!” on his ribs doesn't convince her, not that Gideon tries to be particularly convincing. But it's still better than telling her the truth, isn't it?

The truth he has to keep to himself. And, seriously, it's ruining all the Harry Potter fun for him. When everyone else around him gets excited which each new book in the series being released, Gideon only feels dread in his stomach when he turns the pages. Is it finally it? The book where poor Albus Dumbledore meets his macabre destiny?

Once, he even wonders what would happen if he were to write to the author about it. Perhaps he would be the one to give her the idea, because Dumbledore was never meant to die but now she has to kill him off if it means some random kid from Maine can meet his soulmate. Or maybe she would backtrack on it and Gideon would be left with a meaningless tattoo for a soulmate he would never meet. Butterflies and hurricanes, the thought scary enough to stop him from grabbing a pen and a piece of paper.

Eight year of torture, the eight longest years of his life, before the fifth book comes out and puts him out of his misery for good. It’s almost a relief, really -- he’s probably the only one on Earth relieved that Dumbledore dies, and the thought alone makes his head spin. He doesn’t want to resent his soulmate for it, because it isn’t fair on the guy, but, really. His soulmate ruined Harry Potter for him. He kinda resents him, just a little.

Still, Melody is sitting in front of him at lunch, head in her hands, like the word crumbled around her and she doesn’t know how to react. Gideon would say he knows how she feels, but -- it wasn’t exactly a plot twist for him now, was it?

“It’s just a book,” he tells her, even if he knows it won’t change anything.

And, indeed, she glares at him, black hair falling in front of her eyes even when she huffs to push it away. She glares, before she squints. “Why are you reacting like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re not reacting at all.”

He shrugs, the truth sticking to the back of his teeth, before he remembers. It isn’t a secret anymore. It’s out there in the open for everyone to read, and it isn’t a secret he has to keep any longer. The sigh escapes his lips, loud and heavy, his shoulders sagging a little. Melody quirks an eyebrow at him, but still follows him outside the cafeteria when he gestures for her to follow him, the wheels of her chair squeaking on the floor. He finds an empty corridor easily -- everyone either in the cafeteria or outside during that time of the day -- and lifts his shirt up for her to see the words etched into his skin.

Unsurprisingly, she bursts into laughter.

 

…

 

Nothing happens during the following week, or month.

Gideon can guess why.

 

…

 

His hand in on Melody’s back, helping her down the stairs while she struggles with her crutches -- not for the first time, he offered to carry her, but she’s too proud to look weak in public. Her wheelchair is down the stairs, just next to the big screen, and so Gideon helps her down once almost everyone in the cinema has left the room. It’s only them and a handful of people, as they make their way down slowly. A bead of sweat rolls down Melody’s forehead, his hand reaching for her elbow, when he hears it.

“Dude, I can’t believe Dumbledore dies!”

Both he and Melody stop in their track, turning around as one to face the guy behind them. Medium-height, blond hair curling around a baseball cap, hoodie too big for his frame. That’s about everything Gideon sees of him, before he snaps. 

“ _ You _ ! You’re the one!” The guy’s eyes widen, the pupils a deep green even in the darkness of the cinema, and Gideon barely has time to think,  _ This is your soulmate, holy shit _ , before he goes on. “You ruined this for me! All of this! You ruined Harry Potter for me!”

The girl behind him -- she looks so much like him, only slightly older, that she can only be his sister -- loses it right here and then, laughing so loudly everyone else around them stops and stares. Not that Gideon cares all that much when, breaths laboured and heavy, he can only stare at the guy in front of him. Damn, but he’s pretty too, even if wildly confused.

“That’s not really how I imagined that being said,” he kind of half-mumbles. 

His sister laughs louder. Melody huffs a snort too. Gideon only stares and stares and stares, unable to react, to answer, to do anything at all. And then the guy is smiling and he knows, truly, deeply, how fucked he is, because there are double dimples in his cheeks and sparkles in his eyes and  _ this is your soulmate, goddammit, who cares about stupid Dumbledore _ .

From the corner of his eye, he sees that the blonde girl is now taking care of Melody, helping her down the stairs and, most likely, making sure to leave them some space. Gideon’s breath hitches in his throat at the thought, even more so when the other guy takes a step down and closer to him. He’s smaller than Gideon, not that it’s that difficult -- he’s been towering over everyone since he was about fourteen, too tall for his own good. And pretty. He’s so damn pretty Gideon has no idea where to go from there. He’s never been really good at the whole flirting thing, but everything happening right now makes it even worse.

“I’m Leo,” the boy says with the same mirthful grin. 

_ I’m a mess _ , he wants to reply. But, instead and rather pitifully, “Gi--Gideon.”

“Nice to meet you,” Leo grins. “And sorry about the Dumbledore thing.”

“I will never forgive you,” Gideon deadpans. A little too much, maybe, because Leo’s smile drops for a moment, before he catches up with the poor attempt at humour and laughs softly. He has a beautiful laugh. The kind of laugh Gideon would very much like to hear all his life. Geez, five minutes and he’s so far gone it’s not even funny.

Leo puts his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and bites down on his bottom lip, drawing Gideon’s eyes to his mouth even as he moves closer still. Can you die of a heart attack so young? Maybe he’ll be the first one, a medical anomaly. “I can make it up to you, maybe?”

Call 911.

_ Help _ .

 

…

 

Emma sits on the hood of her car, eyes on her phone, when Leo gets out of the cinema. Even from afar and with his cap hiding half his face, she can see the smug grin on his face. Not that she blames him. Her little brother has always been more of a romantic fool than she ever was, has always believed his life could only be complete once he met his soulmate -- and why would he think otherwise anyway, with such a sweet tattoo on his bicep. She doesn’t blame him for the halo of happiness following him right now.

She doesn’t blame him, even if she tries her best to ignore the jealousy in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes, Emma wonders what her life would be like if she had never met Neal, if she had chosen another dark alley to come home faster, if she had left Ruby’s house just five minutes later. If she had never met Neal, and his stupid smiles and his stupid pickup line that matched the tattoo on her wrist. Neal and his lies, his deceits, his bullshit. Neal, who pretended to be her soulmate, just because.

“His name is Gideon,” Leo gloats once he’s close enough to the car.

“That’s a nerdy name if I’ve ever heard one,” Emma comments, just to be an asshole. Not that Leo cares, both because he’s used to their banter and because he’s too happy to care about anything right now. “But you’re into nerds so…”

“ _ You’re _ into nerds,” he shoots back lamely. 

She grins. “Got his number?”

Leo opens his mouth, before horror flashes through his eyes. It’s all Emma needs to lose her shit again, laughing out loud as she watches her baby brother stammer pitifully before he quickly says, “I’ll be back,” and runs back inside. Emma bites down on her lip, snickering to herself, before she shakes her head.

Romantic fool indeed.

When she checks her phone again, she has about three dozen Whatsapp notifications -- most of them from Anna on the girls’ group chat -- and she sighs loudly before opening the app. Knowing Leo, she has more than enough time to catch up on her friend’s shenanigans anyway. She’s scrolling through the conversation, mostly about Anna’s upcoming wedding, when she hears some kind of noise to her left.

Looking up, she finds one guy from the cinema walking toward the large dumpsters by the other side of the parking lot, his arms full of folded boxes. She looks at him from the corner of her eye, and he must sense it because he stops in his track and looks back. He’s wearing all black, from his pants to his shirt to the stupid cap on his head, which makes him look like some cat burglar in a Nickelodeon show, or something.

“Nobody ever told you it’s dangerous to be alone at night?”

A cold shiver runs down her spine at the word, and she fights the urge to scratch the skin of her wrist. It’s just a line. Nothing but a line. “Fuck off,” she mumbles instead, before she focuses back on her phone. Or at least tries to, because she can’t focus on anything beside those fucking words, can’t focus on anything beside the guy in the corner of her eyes who looks rightfully chastised.

“Sorry,” he says, taking a step forward, then stopping. He scratches his ear, and goes on, “It’s just -- don’t want anything happening to you, love.”

His English accent makes his vowels rounder and his pet name less annoying. When she looks back at him -- properly looks back, taking in his black hair and beard and the blue of his eyes -- he is almost blushing, like he’s actually embarrassed that his line was taken as anything but concern for a stranger. Which. It’s nice, she guesses. Not that she needs anyone’s concern, but it’s nice to know there are still a couple of good people on this stupid Earth.

“I know how to handle myself,” she answers. Then, because she sounds too much like an asshole, “But thanks. Appreciated.”

He smiles at her, a tight-lipped and awkward smile, before he takes a few steps toward the back door of the cinema. Thinks better of it. Comes back to her. Emma’s breath catches in her throat, her fingers reaching for the keys in her pocket so she can turn them into a makeshift weapon. Just in case, you never know.

“Listen, love. I know it’s bad form to ask those kinds of things because of privacy and all that, but would you mind telling me what your soulmate tattoo says?”

Emma’s mouth opens, her mind racing, her heart screaming. Run, run, run, it tells her. Run and save yourself, run and save me from breaking again. But her feet are stuck to the ground and her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and her mind is screaming and screaming and screaming.

“That’s personal,” she finds herself replying numbly when he takes another step forward and into her space. Close enough that she can see the scar on his cheek and the hope in his eyes. “Only to be shared with…”

“Your soulmate, I know.” He’s smiling now, his fingers reaching for the collar of his shirt. “But I’ve always been about leaps of faith, you see.”

And then he’s pulling his collar down, offering quite the view on his collarbone and his chest hair and Emma’s writing carved in black ink into his skin. The “Fuck off” in her loopy handwriting has something almost comical to it, in a very frightening way. She licks her lips, forcing herself to breath, not to move. She wants to run; she needs to run. Away, far away from him and his tattoo and its meaning. Far away from his hopefully eyes and tentative smile and beautiful face.

Instead, she finds herself reaching for her wrist, pulling up her sleeve. The cursive words are so tiny you need to look close if you want to read them. Not that Emma needs to. She’s read them enough to know them by heart, heard them twice already. Once by Neal, who was lying. And a second time by him, who isn’t.

“I can’t,” she whispers softly, “I can’t take a chance that this thing is wrong about you.”

When he takes a step forward this time, he’s so close she can count the freckles on his nose and feel his breath on her mouth, smell the burnt popcorn in his hair and on his shirt. The gasp gets stuck at the back on her throat when he takes her hand, his thumb rubbing circles against her palm.

He’s about to reply something -- some platitude she doesn’t need, perhaps -- when Leo calls her name from afar. His fingers slip away from her, leaving nothing but a shiver and the cold of the night in their wake. Emma refuses to miss his touch, and instead focuses on her brother jogging his way toward her, grin on his lips.

“Got his number. And a date.” He notices the guy then, and frowns. “Making friends?”

“Not really. Let’s go home.”

The guy opens his mouth once, twice, the hope in his eyes leaving place to a sad puppy face. Emma has to close her own eyes to stop herself from doing something stupid. Like believing soulmates are actually something in the cards for her. “You know where to find me,” he says so softly only she can hear.

When she slams the car’s door, it sounds like finality. Leo is still staring at her, before he mumbles something about how she can never let him have his moment and how she’s always stealing his thunder and making everything about herself, or something. She just turns the volume of the radio up to drown his rambling, and her own thoughts.

 

…

 

It takes five weeks.

But when she goes back, it’s not for a movie.


End file.
